WOP Ch 7.1

The first time he noticed something wrong with his right hand was around the time he was moving to the Kurdistan region.

At the moment he tried to capture the group of civilians moving towards the border in the middle of the night, avoiding the soldiers’ eyes, the sensation in his fingertips as he pressed the shutter felt dull, unlike usual. It wasn’t something he could easily dismiss, having already experienced several close calls. That night, Ha Joyoon abandoned his lingering desire to continue filming and immediately returned to base camp.

However, even after resting for several days, the sensation didn’t return easily, and after much deliberation, he boarded a flight back home, leaving all his coverage schedules behind.

Complex thoughts plagued him during the long flight, which lasted over two days. The anxiety of possibly never being able to hold a camera again, the fear that something might be wrong again somewhere, the guilt of running away from the field. But another thought preceded all of these.

He didn’t want to be a burden on the life of the person beside him again. He didn’t want to repeat his mistakes. He didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore.

Life always flowed in unpredictable directions, and no one knew what awaited at the end of this anxiety.

He hoped that everything would end with him.

❄

Contrary to his worries, the examination and diagnosis results weren’t serious. The slight paralysis was explained as one of the symptoms that could appear as a side effect of past injuries and surgeries, and the doctor recommended rest and rehabilitation for the time being. And his lover, who was sitting next to him listening to the explanation, immediately put Ha Joyoon into a hospital known for its prominent medical staff in neurological rehabilitation. The doctor’s explanation that it wasn’t a serious issue was useless.

All of this happened within just three months.

Recalling the past, Ha Joyoon stared at Shin Kwonjoo, who was sitting across from him, drinking coffee. His face looked peaceful as he looked over some documents.

Could this person really be the one who devised that merciless rehabilitation training?

He glared at him with a slight hint of resentment, and the man, sensing his gaze, tilted his head slightly. Even that small movement revealed his sculpted features.

“What?”

“…I think you’re incredibly handsome.”

At the awkward joke, Shin Kwonjoo chuckled and pointed to the new rehabilitation tool he’d received from the hospital last week.

“Manage your expression before you speak.”

“What’s wrong with my expression?”

“Want me to show you a mirror? Keep moving your hand, don’t leave it still.”

“I’m constantly moving it.”

“You have to keep moving it except when you’re sleeping.”

“The remaining nerves will be damaged…”

“They won’t.”

Continuing their quiet conversation, Shin Kwonjoo, who had by now pushed his paperwork and mug to the side, picked up a disassembled camera lens. Thanks to Ha Joyoon’s diligent cleaning just moments before, its surface gleamed. Shin Kwonjoo’s brow furrowed slightly as he casually inspected the camera body.

“Are you planning on polishing lenses all day?”

“I have to keep maintaining them.”

“You should maintain your body like that. I guarantee this camera is more robust than you. Give it here.”

Finishing his sentence, Shin Kwonjoo took the lens from Ha Joyoon’s hand and twisted it into place. With a click, the body and lens were seamlessly connected. His deft and swift assembly of the camera looked familiar, as if he had been in the field just yesterday.

Smiling silently, Ha Joyoon watched him, suddenly realizing it had been a long time since he’d seen his lover holding a camera. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen it once since they reunited in Korea.

His gentle eyes began to trace distant memories. A year ago, two years ago, and even further into the past.

“A thought just occurred to me.”

“What?”

Shin Kwonjoo replied curtly, his gaze fixed on the camera body. His eyes, peeking through the hair falling over his forehead, were sharp and meticulous as always. With each movement of his long fingers, the disassembled camera parts clicked into place one by one. His touch was practiced and skilled.

“It feels like we’ve known each other for a long time.”

Ha Joyoon replied, resting his chin on his knee with a dazed expression. His partner’s dark eyes tilted slightly at his words.

“Since when?”

A light laugh mingled with the air. The slight curve of his lips instantly softened his cold features. It was a look reserved only for those closest to him, those he felt safest with.

He suddenly recalled the time when they considered each other as nothing more than passing acquaintances.

The time when he, as a reporter, admired his lover at the peak of his career, and to his lover, he was just one of many passing interns, their relationship purely professional. That tenuous connection, which could have easily drifted apart, leading them to never meet again, had somehow continued to this point after a long journey.

“I think I got scolded a lot…”

“You did things that deserved scolding.”

“Did I…?”

“You did.”

Playfulness crept into the tone of their conversation. A sense of comfort brought on a wave of drowsiness. The sunlight tickling his toes was warm.

“I liked your photos, Sunbae-nim.”

“…”

Letting out another light chuckle, Shin Kwonjoo started adjusting the settings like exposure and noise through the viewfinder. Ha Joyoon suddenly felt as if he was working alongside him in the field.

“I wanted to have that kind of perspective too. Back then, I was so caught up in my emotions… I envied the frame that allowed for a more objective view…”

“Well…”

Shin Kwonjoo, somewhat dismissively drawing out his words as he focused on assembling the camera, added flatly,

“There weren’t any grand thoughts like you’re imagining, so there’s no need to feel regret. Focusing on your rehabilitation is more productive than dwelling on my past photos.”

His tone held no trace of lingering attachment. Haha. Chuckling softly, Ha Joyoon tilted his head, which was resting on his knee.

Since expressing his intention to leave the field, Shin Kwonjoo hadn’t picked up a camera anywhere. Nor had he taken any pictures. Occasionally, he’d use his phone to take pictures for documentation purposes in the field, but that was all.

Whatever the reason, Ha Joyoon respected Shin Kwonjoo’s decision. The feeling of regret was simply a part of him. His complex thoughts continued to wander.

Click.

At the familiar sound of the shutter, Ha Joyoon blinked involuntarily.

“Stay still.”

The tap, tap, tap of his hand lightly hitting the floor was as relaxed as ever.

“Uh-huh.”

Following his lover’s gesture, Ha Joyoon stopped his attempt to stand and awkwardly settled back down.

“Your expression is weird.”

“Because you suddenly started taking pictures…”

Click, click.

The shutter sound continued without a pause. The way he adjusted the lens and zoomed in seemed like he was about to take a close-up of just his face. Embarrassed by the thought of his face filling the viewfinder, Ha Joyoon waved his hands repeatedly.

“Wait a second.”

“Smile. I’ll take a good picture of you.”

“Let’s take one together. It’s embarrassing to be alone.”

“Later.”

Extending his arm was useless. Shin Kwonjoo, suppressing his movements with his long legs, kept clicking the shutter with a playful smile on his lips. His movements were fluid and practiced.

The midday commotion ended after a bit more playful wrestling.

❄

“Let’s take one together next time.”

His body and mind were languid after making love throughout the evening. He spoke in a low voice, and an arm reached out from behind him. Long, firm fingers interlaced with his own. Since restarting his rehabilitation, Shin Kwonjoo would often overlap his hand with Ha Joyoon’s, squeezing and releasing it repeatedly whenever he had a moment. It happened so frequently and intensely that it was unclear whether it was conscious or habit.

At that moment, his body was pulled back as his lover’s cold lips pressed against the nape of his neck. He flinched at the cool touch, and a quiet chuckle tickled his ear.

“Okay.”

“When?”

Despite his nonchalant voice, his arms tightened around him. Liking the firm embrace, Ha Joyoon closed his eyes and listened to Shin Kwonjoo’s voice.

“In about ten years?”

“That long…”

“My appearance fees are quite high, you know.”

“It’s a waste. Your photos are really good, Sunbae-nim…”

“That goes without saying.”

“…”

At his sullen silence, Shin Kwonjoo chuckled softly, his sharp nose tickling Ha Joyoon’s neck.

“Not right now.”

He added in a gentle but firm voice.

“It’s still too far off.”

“What is?”

“Well…”

What did he mean? Ha Joyoon pulled their clasped hands to his cheek. He held back his curiosity and his words. He trusted the process his lover must have gone through to arrive at his current decision, whatever it might be. He simply believed that someday, he would understand the meaning behind his words.

“Let’s go to the hospital together tomorrow.”

“Looks like you have some time in the afternoon.”

“I have an appointment nearby, so I think I can go straight to the hospital.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Thank me properly.”

“What’s that…”

Their laughter mingled. Their legs tangled, their bare skin rubbing together. The subtle difference in their body temperatures evened out with the leisurely friction. Their different heats, after circling each other for a long time, finally embraced the same warmth.

Ha Joyoon suddenly thought of his past and present relationships.

Half of his life had been filled with someone’s waiting and pain. The anguish that held his past didn’t fade with time. No matter how many sleepless nights he endured, he wouldn’t be able to let go of this guilt.

Irrational fear and guilt sometimes encroached upon the realm of reality.

He was afraid of being a burden and worried about causing hardship.

Sometimes, he was tormented by the self-deprecating thought that his photographs, his life, might be parasitic, using his partner as a host.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t leave, because the life he shared with him, that time, was happiness.

He thought he wanted to be with him, and considered himself happy to be walking in the same direction.

I long to walk alongside you for a long time, and even if our lives proceed at different paces, I hope we can stand together at that intersection someday.

I indulge in such a selfish desire.

Ha Joyoon tilted his head back to look at Shin Kwonjoo. Dark eyes stared back at him, seemingly puzzled.

“Why are you staring so intently?”

“Just because.”

“…You’re being silly.”

“Actually, I think so too.”

Unable to fully conceal his overflowing emotions, he rubbed his forehead against Shin Kwonjoo’s firm chest. A large hand gently stroked the back of his head and neck.

He thought he was happy, that he couldn’t wish for anything more.

Those were the eyes he loved more than anyone else’s.